


Forged in Fire

by Tarlan



Series: Prime, Not Prime [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Goa'uld, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Ori invaded the galaxy, the <i>Korolev</i> raced to the fight. Having been exiled to Russia years earlier, and having worked on the designs, Rodney was pressed into service as her chief engineer with dire consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Destruction of the Korolev

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Forged in Fire part 1 wallpaper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/944268) by [marlislash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marlislash/pseuds/marlislash). 



> I've not tried posting a WIP here before... let's see how this goes!
> 
> Written for:  
>  **mcsheplets** Prompt: #155 Myth  
>  **ancientctybingo** Prompt: War and Peace  
>  **trope_bingo** prompt: au: Fairy Tale/Myth
> 
> PREQUEL to Prime, Not Prime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Ori opened a supergate to bring their warships into this galaxy, the _Korolev_ saw her first action, and with it, her chief engineer and one of the designers - Dr. M. Rodney McKay.

Rodney honestly thought that helping to solve the whole _Stargate about to explode_ dilemma and saving Jack O'Neill's life by rewriting a subroutine to automate the eject sequence would have earned him a few Brownie points. He thought they might consider bringing him back from exile but, four years later, he was still working alongside the Russians. Except this time he was in space, trying to keep the 'rushed-into-service' _Korolev_ from imploding before she reached P3Y-229.

He knew the ship exceedingly well, having been instrumental in her design, and so he knew her limitations. He grabbed at a console as the ship rocked under the impact of Ori weaponry.

"We've lost the Hyperdrive!" he exclaimed, using Russian automatically after spending four years with very little English spoken around him.

"Get it back, Doctor McKay!" 

The order came from the bridge but Rodney knew there was nothing he could do while they were under attack. 

"Not possible, Colonel Checkov."

"Route all remaining power to weapons."

Watching the controls, he could see F302s coming online in the Fighter bay. Colonel Mitchell's voice requested permission to launch, and then the F302s were away, but Rodney barely paid them any attention. More explosions rocked the ship and he fell heavily, taking a glancing blow to the side of his head as it smacked against a console. The shield began to crumble, down to under 20%. Rodney shoved up, ignoring the blood he could feel trickling down the side of his face from the laceration and pressed the panel to access the shield emitter controls. He cried out as an arc of power burned his thumb but managed to swap crystals within the matrix to re-route any remaining auxiliary power from the hyperdrive between the weapons and shields, seeing the shield percentage jump barely a few percent. Another explosion rocked through the ship and this time the engineering siren changed in pitch to the one he dreaded most. A quick glance proved it was too late. The casing had cracked on the main hyperdrive reactor, and a lethal dose of Naquadah radiation flooded the area, with the thick bulkhead door providing only partial protection. Not enough though.

He rocked back on his heels in shock, momentarily unable to function as he realized he was now a walking dead man. Without medical attention from the Asgard, he had maybe a week or two left to live.

"McKay! Shields are failing. Get out of there."

The _Abandon Ship_ command rang through the _Korolev_ , and he debated for a moment whether it would be better to stay and meet a fiery but painlessly quick death on-board, but his survival instincts were stronger, along with the hope that the Asgard might be pressed to save him. He struggled along shaking corridors with the rest of the battered and bloodied crew as the _Korolev_ began to fall apart. Five of them scrambled into one of the escape pods and moments later he felt the inertial dampers engage as the pod shot away from the _Korolev_. The brilliant flash of light through the single, small porthole stunned him momentarily.

"Brace for impact," he yelled, realizing a shockwave from the destruction of the _Korolev_ would follow swiftly.

The tiny pod shook around them, going dark as internal emergency lighting failed. He heard a scream followed by an ominous gurgle but couldn't move even if he had wanted to. His hands had frozen into a tight grip on the edge of his seat, glad he had buckled up immediately as his body pushed against the restraints. His head smacked backwards as the pod was thrown inside the maelstrom, and blessed unconsciousness claimed him.

When he resurfaced, the pod was still dark and the smell of vomit intense; he could hear soothing murmurs of reassurance.

"What's happening?" he demanded softly, fighting his gag reflex.

"The _Korolev_ is gone, and the Ori warships have moved into the galaxy."

"Yes, yes. Obviously, so perhaps I should rephrase... What's happening to us?"

"Systems are dead. We are using emergency oxygen."

Rodney hit the release on his restraints and would have fallen if the lack of gravity had not caught him. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small tablet, activating a torchlight application before panning it around the small escape pod. He fumbled in shock and almost dropped the tablet when it lit up one the engineers with half his face missing. Obviously dead. Pushing out of his seat, he floated to the console behind the man, pulling out a board and re-routing some of the burned out wiring. The lights flickered on dimly but at least now they could see the true extent of the damage. The emergency beacon was in working order but not registering a signal; Rodney suspected the external array had been damaged, and there was not a lot they could do about that until they landed somewhere relatively hospitable. Another manual override to back-up systems brought gravity back.

Muffled curses made him glance over his shoulder. "Sorry, sorry." But at least he was no longer in danger of pushing through a floating mass of blood and vomit.

Accessing the on-board computer, he brought up a star map from their last known location. The Ori Supergate had harnessed the materials of P3Y-229 to form a wormhole, destroying it in the process, and the next Class-M world was days away. Glancing around, he knew that at least two of the engineers wouldn't make it. They had taken a far stronger burst of the Naquadah radiation and even now they were losing hair by the handful, and barely hanging onto consciousness. The pain would already be intense, and he heard one of them moan and gag, producing just a thin stream of bile that made Rodney's stomach flip.

The only other engineer still able to get to his feet went to the medical pack and pulled out morphine. Rodney stayed his hand before he filled the hypodermics.

"No. Save it for when they really need it."

He pulled out a blister pack of high dosage painkillers and some anti-nausea medication before handing them over to the engineer... Alexey Chelomey, he read on the man's ID patch. Rodney felt his jaw tic with the urge to suggest that they find something to ease their suffering more permanently. He knew that he and Chelomey would need the morphine eventually, knowing they would suffer for far longer due to the lower dose of still lethal radiation they had received.

By mutual agreement, they moved the dead engineer away from the control panels, covering him with one of the emergency aluminum blankets. Any attempt to move either of the other two was met with cries of pain so they left them in their seats. Chelomey did his best to offer what comfort was available while Rodney worked on finding them somewhere to land, preferably with a Stargate.

The first of the others died eleven hours later, having never regained consciousness fortunately. The second died when they were only hours away from a barely hospitable and definitely uninhabited world that at least had a Stargate.

"I'll need to re-route power to the engines once we get close," Rodney stated.

"What power? All that is left is life support!"

"Then that's where I'll need to take it from," he retorted.

"Why? Why do we need thruster engines online? The pod, she will land without."

"Yes, but unless we can control where we land, we may as well die right here... unless you're up for a four thousand mile trek on foot to the Stargate across possibly hostile terrain," he replied with acid in his tone.

Chelomey conceded that he had a point. They were both sick... dying. Neither of them would be able to walk a hundred miles, let alone four thousand, especially on a world where the natural radiation levels were too high to sustain human life for more than a few weeks. It would simply kill them both even faster.

"Look. There are six small oxygen tanks and masks. That's an hour of oxygen each if we stay calm and not exert ourselves too much. I can set the autopilot to aim for the Stargate, and to reduce life support to a bare minimum when we're forty minutes out. All we have to do in the meantime is stay warm because I'll need to lower the internal temperature as far as possible."

With a sigh, Chelomey nodded his agreement. Rodney watched him hesitate before reaching out to snag the emergency blankets off the three corpses but they both knew that the living would need them more than the dead right now. Moving quickly, Rodney finished the sequence of commands and was shivering by the time he crossed over to Chelomey, sinking down into the seat beside him and pulling the blankets around them both as they huddled as close as possible to conserve heat. Forty minutes out from the planet, he heard the small chime and pulled out the first of his oxygen canisters, strapping on the mask with difficulty as his fingers were numbed with cold. It took a great deal of effort to keep himself calm when the temperature dropped even lower, not wanting to use up his oxygen too fast.

When he had used up the first canister, he secured his seat restraints before attaching the next canister; Chelomey followed his actions even though it meant losing some of the heat from Huddling close together. As the pod entered the planet's atmosphere, the internal temperature began to rise and Rodney stopped shivering for the first time in hours. It climbed higher still, reactivating the stench of death and vomit that he'd become almost accustomed to over the past few days. He could feel vibrations as the pod was buffeted by the atmosphere, and then the lurch as the engines cut in, angling them for a better re-entry as it aimed towards the Stargate. The emergency alarm sounded in warning and they both braced for a bumpy landing.

The hatch popped soon after and Rodney cast aside the oxygen mask to take a pull of the first clean air into his lungs in days. Together they clambered out of the pod and dropped to the long grass. Looking back, Rodney could see the trail of destruction from their landing cutting a groove through miles of grassland, and ahead of them he could see the tree line of a heavily wooded area. A quick glance showed the hull of the pod pitted and scored where the emergency beacon array was housed. He knew he could fix it eventually, but time was not a luxury either of them could afford right now.

The Stargate wasn't in sight so he pulled out his tablet and checked for Naquadah readings, finding a faint trace ahead of them, probably just beyond the woods.

"Guess it's this way," he stated. "About a day's walk at most. It's early morning. If we start out soon, we should be through the woods before nightfall."

And if the Stargate was just on the other side, they might even be dialing home soon after but Rodney was a realist by nature, though some confused that with pessimism. He knew they couldn't simply walk away from the pod in just the clothes they were wearing, and Chelomey agreed.

They gathered up as many provisions as they could safely carry and, within an hour, they were heading into the woods towards the Stargate.

TBC


	2. The Long Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodney and Chelomey know their only hope lies with reaching the Stargate, but first they have to cross to the other side of the wood.

At first they made good time. The wood wasn't too thick and the orange-reddish sunlight slanted through the trees to make their path less treacherous underfoot. Even so, Rodney felt his foot catch more than once on the twisted roots spreading out from the gnarled-shaped trees. As the day marched on with them, their pace slowed as exhaustion began to set in. Neither of them were in the best of health, with the radiation poisoning already beginning to ravage them. Looking across, Rodney could see the sheen of sweat over Chelomey's deathly pale face and knew his own complexion would be no better.

Chelomey tripped again, but this time he went down hard, sprawling onto hands and knees. He hung his head low, panting raggedly, and Rodney sighed in dismay, head hanging low too. By his reckoning they had barely crossed halfway and he realized he had overestimated them managing to reach the other side by nightfall. Tired too, Rodney sank down onto the log of a fallen tree.

"Maybe we should take a breather? Rest for a while?" Rodney stated it questioningly, deciding to let Chelomey make that decision for them.

Chelomey looked up and Rodney could see the exhaustion writ heavily across his features, knowing by the laxness of his lips as he continued to pant that he would not give an answer.

"Yes. I'll just..." Rodney let the words trail off as he pulled his pack from his shoulder and delved into the contents, drawing out the makings of a meager meal even though the idea of food was less than appealing right now. His stomach roiled from radiation sickness, but he knew they both needed to eat something to keep them strong enough for the rest of the journey ahead.

The Russian equivalent of an MRE had the same self-heating element and he activated the first pack, thankful that he had learned enough Russian to understand the ingredients list and hence avoid anything with citrus. Pulling out a second, he looked to Chelomey.

"Beef Goulash?"

Chelomey lost a little more color at the mere mention of food but nodded nonetheless. He crawled over to where Rodney was seated and slumped down beside the log so he could use it for a backrest. Once the Goulash was heated, Rodney handed it over. The smell made him nauseous and he had to force in the first few mouthfuls of his own meal, desperately hoping he'd manage to keep it down. He washed the meal down with several large gulps of water even though he knew they ought to conserve as much as possible.

Glancing up at the sky visible through the twisted branches, Rodney quickly worked out the position of the sun. He knew they had two choices. They could struggle back onto their feet and get moving, and perhaps clear more than half the remaining distance before they needed to stop and set up camp for the night, or they could stop now. The problem was that they were growing weaker with each passing hour. If they camped now then there was no guarantee that either of them would be strong enough to make it all the way to the Stargate on the following day.

Rodney pushed a hand through his grimy, sweaty hair and grimaced when a handful came out in a clump. Not that he had a lot of hair to begin with, he thought sardonically, wishing male-pattern baldness didn't run in his family. He didn't care that it was a sign of virility, knowing he'd rather have had a full head of hair.

"We have to go on," he stated firmly, pushing aside the silly, vain thoughts.

Chelomey nodded and slowly clambered to his feet. It took Rodney a similar amount of effort to stand too, and even more to put one foot in front of the other and start walking but he refused to simply sit down and die on this godforsaken world. If they reached the Stargate tomorrow then they still had time to ask the Asgard for medical help.

They walked in silence, too tired to make even small conversation. After another two hours, Rodney noticed the light was beginning to fade so he stopped, holding onto a tree to keep himself upright. He could recall how many times he had tripped and fallen in the last hour, or how many times he had helped Chelomey back on his feet in turn. With the shadows falling thicker and darker, soon it would be impossible to see where they were placing each foot, and neither of them could afford an accident.

Chelomey glanced around. "This is as good a place as any to set up camp for the night."

Silently they set off to gather kindling for a small fire, making sure to stay within view of the other at all times. Soon after they had flames licking around the kindling, and Rodney drew his aluminum emergency blankets around his shoulders to ward off the chill as the dying sun finally set. He could feel a tickling sensation between his shoulder blades that was likely paranoia rather than something watching them, but he moved closer to the fire and its offer of heat and protection anyway.

"Do you think there are any... eh... predators here?"

Chelomey snorted softly. "Unlikely... unless they have adapted to the higher radiation levels on this dying world."

"Huh! Then it's possible." 

Rodney licked his lips as he cautiously glanced over his shoulder, perturbed by the deep shadows kept at bay only by the fire. Unfortunately, the flickering light made the shadows dance upon the gnarled and twisted branches of the trees surrounding them, and Rodney wished he didn't have such an overactive imagination.

"Perhaps we should build this a little higher?"

"And then we would run out of wood to burn before morning."

He pointed at Chelomey. "Good point."

Tired beyond belief and yet too scared to sleep, Rodney gazed into the fire. He jerked suddenly, blinking rapidly, and realized he must have dozed off while still seated, awakening when his body had started to tilt off balance. Across the fire from him, Chelomey had laid down onto his side but Rodney could see the light of the fire glinting off his open eyes. With a sigh, Rodney laid down too, curling up with his back to the darkness in the woods beyond. His eyes held Chelomey's for a while but the long walk and sickness quickly took its toll, and eventually he slept.

Morning came too soon, and with it the need to get moving once they had eaten. The fire had reduced to glowing embers and it took Rodney a few tries to get it started again. He considered not bothering but the lure of hot coffee urged him on, and once he had set some water to boil, Rodney turned to breakfast, pulling two more MREs from his pack. He was surprised that the aroma of food and coffee had not pulled Chelomey from his slumber, and so he crawled around the edge of the fire. Reaching out, he shook the man's shoulder but gained no reaction.

"Chelomey?" Another more forceful shake gained no response. "Chelomey," he called more insistently. "Alexey!"

Rodney reached for the pulse point, pressing two fingers against Chelomey's throat and his head dipped in relief when he felt a thready beat. He cradled Chelomey's face in one hand while he gently tapped the man's cheek with the other, relieved when he finally gained a reaction. Dark brown eyes opened blearily and Chelomey blinked up at him.

"Breakfast is ready," Rodney stated with false cheer, and helped Chelomey struggle to an upright seated position. He half crawled back around the fire to collect the heated MREs before handing one over to the other man with shaking hands. Neither of them mentioned the purple skin discolorations from blood hemorrhaging beneath the skin, and Rodney turned away when he felt a tickle beneath his nose, wiping ineffectively with the back of his hand. He was not surprised to find his hand bloody. He was expecting it.

"I'm not hungry."

"I know... but we have to eat."

"I should have stayed on-board the _Korolev_. It would have been quicker. Painless."

"It... may be selfish of me but I'm... glad you didn't."

Chelomey gave a wry smile and Rodney watched his hand hesitate as he brought the fork of food to his lips, his whole body unnaturally tense until Chelomey took the mouthful and swallowed with difficulty. He looked away in embarrassment when Chelomey glanced up and caught him watching.

"It's... awful. Russian rations are terrible. What I would give for vodka right now to wash it down."

Rodney gave a lopsided grin. "When we make it back, I'll buy you a bottle of the most expensive vodka I can find in Colorado Springs."

Chelomey laughed. "And we will drink it together. To celebrate life... and death."

Half an hour later they had packed up their small camp and were moving again, stopping barely ten minutes later when Chelomey vomited up all he'd eaten. It was only by force of will that Rodney kept his own breakfast down, and he realized he must have seriously misjudged how much time they had left. He had not taken into account being stranded inside the escape pod for days next to the irradiated corpses of three others, nor the amount of radiation given out by this Class K sun.

Chelomey began to fall behind and Rodney waited for him to catch up. He looked worse than ever, his eyes glassy with fever and steps swaying. He seemed disoriented for a moment when Rodney reached for Chelomey's arm and pulled it around his waist. His own arm snaked around Chelomey, and they staggered on together using each other for support. The worst part was that Rodney could feel his own thoughts slipping into confusion but the obstinacy that had got him into so much trouble throughout his life stood him in good stead now. He refused to give in - for either of them.

A full body radiation absorbency of 7 Gy had registered on the console when the shielding collapsed, and with care he still had a 25% percent chance of making it even now, even without the Asgard's intervention. He had a feeling that Chelomey had absorbed at least 8 Gy, possibly more judging by his stronger symptoms.

The trees didn't thin out. One moment they were in the middle of the wood, and the next they were standing at the edge of another meadow with grass standing as high as Rodney's shoulder. Rodney gasped out in triumph, and laughed aloud, as he saw the ring of the Stargate halfway across the meadow.

"We made it!"

Resolutely, he pushed onwards at a slightly faster pace, feeling Chelomey draw on energy from deep inside at the beautiful sight. They kept their eyes focused on the Stargate as they pushed through the long grass, finally reaching the D.H.D. less than an hour later. Chelomey leaned heavily on the D.H.D. once Rodney withdrew his physical support, and he watched as Rodney depressed the first of the constellation signs that made up the address of Stargate Command. The most beautiful sight he'd ever seen was the gate spinning, replaced with every locked chevron until he pushed on the final control, which would engage the wormhole.

"No! No. No. No."

Rodney yelled out as the Stargate died without locking the final chevron. He tried again... and again... and again.

Nothing.

In desperation he dragged up the memory of other Stargate addresses, trying the one that had started the whole Stargate Off-world Program - Abydos.

The final chevron refused to lock, and Rodney sank down onto his knees. He looked across at Chelomey, who had collapsed at the base of the D.H.D. while Rodney tried to dial home, and saw resignation shining back from fever-bright eyes.

What was he supposed to do now?

.


	3. Prometheus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For thousands of years he had remained chained to this rock. Each day he suffered the torment decreed by Ra, and each night his body was healed so he could suffer again... and again.

When Ra first crashed on Earth, his host body was dying, but he discovered that the primitive humanoids made even better hosts than even the Unas... or the pitifully weak clone bodies of captured Asgard. They were strong limbed and beautiful, with complex brains that had the capacity to store the personality and intelligence of both host and Goa'uld.

His discovery made him the most powerful of the System Lords. 

Through the millennia that followed, Ra ruled both the Goa'uld with an iron fist from within his Tau'ri host body, using the network of Chappa'ai left behind by the Alterans to seed humanity across the galaxy. Killing off first his father, Cronus, followed by any potential rivals, he spawned with his queen, Hera, to ensure that his progeny flourished among those stars, fully subjugating the humanoids.

Descended from the Titan queen Tethys and her sibling consort, Oceanus, Prometheus was blessed with a powerful mind and the curiosity to reach out for new discoveries. When he discovered the Tau'ri were the second iteration of the Alterans, created in their image, and with some even interbred with the Alterans, he recognized the potential of the humanoids. They had the ability to become a great power in the known galaxies - the Fifth Race - that would one day stand beside the Furling, Nox, Asgard and Alterans.

Always subjugated, he knew the Tau'ri could never fulfill that potential while being denied even the most rudimentary of technological advances by Ra. He decided to become a champion for the Tau'ri, secretly giving them the means to fight back against their enslavement while openly advising the System Lords to ignore this one insignificant uprising. Unfortunately, he was caught in a lie after Apophis fled from Earth, but instead of banishing him to Tartarus, or destroying him, Ra decided to make an example of him.

Over the following two millennia Prometheus had lost track of time, for all he had known since the day he was labeled a traitor by Ra, was pain.

Ra had his human slaves build a sarcophagus upright around a rock on the world of Kaukasos, and he had chained Prometheus to that rock. By night that sarcophagus became his tomb but every morning as the sun rose, the sarcophagus lid would pull back, leaving Prometheus exposed to the elements and the animals. In particular, Ra's favorite avian, the golden Aetos, would come daily to feast upon his Tau'ri flesh, tearing out his liver with sharp beak and talons. When the sun set, the sarcophagus lid would close and activate, restoring his Tau'ri body so the torture could begin over with the following sunrise.

Day after day, year and year, through centuries and then millennia.

Occasionally he was graced with the presence of one of his Ra's minions, but they often stayed only for the sport of watching him scream in agony as he was torn into by the Aetos. None of those who had supported him ever came to his rescue, and he believed them all dead.

For most of this time he stayed sane only by conversing with his host, but there was only so much he could teach the primitive Tau'ri and, over time, the continuous torture and use of the sarcophagus had brought insanity. Eventually, he let the Tau'ri's damaged psyche fade away, granting the human a sense of peace that Prometheus would know for himself soon after. The body was already failing, and each regeneration within the sarcophagus only delayed the inevitable. He knew he had at best another full turn of Kaukasos around its sun before even the sarcophagus could no longer repair his human host. Like Ra all those millennia ago, this body was dying. 

Often years would pass without a visitor, especially when the System Lords and their minions were fighting over scraps from Ra's table so it came as a surprise when, one day, he looked up to find a beautiful Jaffa warrior staring hard at him from barely ten feet away; he had not heard him approach. Prometheus did not recognize the mark of ownership worn on the Jaffa's forehead but there were plenty of lesser Goa'uld lords and younger symbiotes who may have risen to power while he suffered for millennia on this rock. Yet as he watched the Jaffa slowly approach, he wondered where this Jaffa's Lord and Master could be hiding.

"Who are you?" he croaked, his throat dry from years of disuse and lack of hydration after spending most of the day beneath the harsh rays of the sun. "Where is your master?"

The Jaffa's lips twisted, head tilting as he slouched in a way that was strangely unbecoming for a warrior Jaffa. Before Prometheus could ask again, a screech came from the skies above and Prometheus tensed in readiness just as he had done for millennia. The flurry of golden feathers filled his vision and he whimpered as talons sank into his flesh, feeling the blood pouring out through the wounds as the large Aetos prepared to peck its way through to the part of his Tau'ri host body that it desired the most - his liver.

It screeched and flew away as something struck it, but unwilling to give up its regular meal, it dived back, only to be struck again as it turned on its attacker instead. More stones struck at it, each one a perfect aim, driving the Aetos back until finally it was driven off.

The Jaffa stared hard at him, eyes moving to the blood flowing freely down Prometheus's thigh from the slashes across his abdomen. He repeated Prometheus's words back at him.

"Who are you?"

Prometheus felt both eyebrows rise in surprise, shocked that this Jaffa could stand before him on this world after all these millennia, and not know his name.

"I am... Prometheus."

The Jaffa frowned, eyes narrowing. "The Titan who angered the gods by giving fire to mankind."

Prometheus raised his chin, trying to look strong despite the pain coursing through his body from the slashes. Over the millennia he had long wished that he could separate himself from the pain inflicted upon his host's body but such was the price he paid in order to survive. The Jaffa moved forward, lips pursing as he reached out to slip a finger beneath the chain bound tightly across Prometheus's thin, sun-burnt chest. His finger slid along the chain, following across his bound wrists to the complicated mechanism that had proved unbreakable even after thousands of years.

"I'm going to need to find something to break that," he stated. "I won't be long. Don't go anywhere," he added with a smirk that left Prometheus mouth gaping in disbelief.

While he was gone, Prometheus turned his eyes to the reddish-orange skies, afraid the Aetos would return while he was alone, bound and vulnerable to its attack. It occurred to him as he waited in trepidation, that being so close to freedom was a torture graver than any he had suffered over these millennia. What if this nameless Jaffa never returned? What if it was just another form of torture dreamed up by Ra out of boredom?

He held back on expressing his relief when the dark-haired Jaffa returned alone, carrying a device that looked unfamiliar. Prometheus stood still, with every muscle of his frail host body tense as the device activated, producing a thin beam that was blue-white. He was glad the Jaffa had chosen a section of the chain that was not touching his skin for it sliced through the metal with ease. He still felt the sear of his flesh, and whimpered at the pain.

"Sorry," the Jaffa murmured. "I couldn't see any place better."

The chain gave suddenly, and Prometheus gasped as he felt his limbs fall free for the first time in so many years. He was glad the device had shut off automatically because he fell forward, caught by the quick reflexes of the Jaffa.

"S'okay. I got you."

The Jaffa lowered him gently to the ground, resting his back against the same rock that had held him captive, before standing back up. His teeth worried at his lower lip as he stared down at Prometheus.

"You're going to need a sarcophagus, and that's one thing I don't have."

Prometheus gave a soft laugh and patted the sides of his tomb. "This is a sarcophagus, but I will not lie in it again... not to heal these wounds, which are mere scratches." He tilted his head inquisitively. "You have still not told me your name, or the name of your lord."

The Jaffa gave a strange smile. "John Sheppard... and I'm a free Jaffa." The smirk came back. "And if you're not going to heal yourself in that," he eyed the tomb sarcophagus, "Then you're going to need this."

He pulled out a small medical kit and knelt down beside Prometheus, pulling out various items. It was only while he watched John Sheppard dress his wounds that he noticed the fine sheen of sweat on the Jaffa's face. Jaffa were rarely sick for the symbiote carried within their stomach pouch kept them healthy. Prometheus reached out and plunged his hand partially into the pouch before the Jaffa pulled back in anger.

"What the hell!"

"You have no symbiote."

"Yeah, luckily I escaped _before_ they could put one of those snakes in me."

"Without one you will die."

"But at least I'll die a free man."

And that answered the question hovering at the back of Prometheus's mind, explaining why this Jaffa would set him free. Prometheus straightened.

"The sarcophagus. It will not heal this as it does not possess enough power," he stroked along one slit, feeling the Jaffa's stomach muscles twitch as John Sheppard flinched at the touch. "But if you remain inside for long enough, if will heal the rest of your body so that you will no longer require a symbiote to maintain your immune system."

John Sheppard narrowed his eyes, his distrust plain to see, and understandable considering he must not have been born a Jaffa, for if that was the case then he would have been implanted with a symbiote as soon as his body matured. Yet this Jaffa was at least thirty Sol years in age and the edges of his pouch still looked raw, as if newly created. He watched as John Sheppard licked his lips in contemplation before nodding.

"Okay. What do I do?"

When the sun sets, the sarcophagus will close. When the sun rises tomorrow, it will open. All you need to do is lean back against the rock."

"And think of England."

"England? Who is...?"

John Sheppard waved a hand. "It's a country on Earth... Doesn't matter."

"You are Tau'ri?" The Jaffa gave a soft wry smile. Prometheus wanted to ask more questions but the growing chill in the air brought his head round and he looked to the horizon. "The sun will be setting soon."

John Sheppard stood up and moved to the rock, turning around to face Prometheus. His expression was resolute yet tinged with fear, and Prometheus was aware of the enormous amount of trust he was placing not only in a stranger but in one of the same race that had turned him into a Jaffa.

He nodded solemnly as the lid closed. Perhaps this could be his one last chance to help one of the Tau'ri before this body died.

.


	4. Enslavement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John reflects back on how he became a slave to the Goa'uld Resheph.

John blinked when the sarcophagus-tomb lid drew back to let in the sunlight of a new day. He felt strong and healthy, with all the aches and pains from two years of beatings and hard labor gone from his body. He ran a hand down his hairy torso, sighing when his fingers brushed over the X-shaped slits that pulled back to allow entry to the symbiote pouch within.

His thoughts drifted back to that day so long ago, when all the world around him was white as he flew a helicopter between McMurdo and the various scientific outposts scattered within a few hundred miles of the base.

Just a day like any other day since he'd accepted the black mark on his record and the less than prestigious posting to the back end of beyond. Antarctica. His ex-C.O. had wanted him to resign. Hell, they had all wanted him to resign, especially his father who was not above promising it would be an honorable discharge, whereas one more fuck up would not be treated with the same _leniency_.

Within a month he realized that he actually liked it at McMurdo. Sure it was cold but there was something pure about the white landscape that stripped away the horrors of Afghanistan from his soul, leaving him a sense of peace that had been missing since the first time he stepped into a war zone.

So, just another day ferrying supplies, but he loved flying and he loved the clear blue skies over the crisp fields of white ice. The flash in the sky startled him and, curious, he radioed it in before turning towards it. For all he knew it could be someone in trouble, and trouble out here on the ice plains was certain death without quick assistance. More light flashes filled the distant skyline and John knew exactly what it was from his time spent in Afghanistan: an aerial firefight.

He cursed softly, knowing he would have to back off. Weapons were not allowed on even military helicopters without a firm directive because no single country had total jurisdiction over Antarctica according to an agreement drawn up years earlier. He knew he couldn't head into this battle in an unarmed helo... but he could get closer to take video footage. Some country was breaking the agreement by attacking another.

The disc-shaped craft that whizzed over him was like nothing he had ever seen before, and neither was the strange bent-winged fighter shooting laser beams at it. Laser beams, he thought in astonishment. He banked hard to avoid colliding with another craft with markings of a bird and ended up on the edge of the ice field, looking across as a larger triangular, alien craft was dwarfed by something that belonged in a science fiction movie. The larger vessel was protecting the alien craft while an even larger laser beam shot straight down into the ice.

Fascinated by what he was seeing, John didn't see another large vessel come up behind his helo as none of this battle or any of the strange craft were registering on radar. None of it. By the time he realized the danger it was too late to bank away, and his helo was swallowed whole, leaving him forced to cut power and land on the metallic surface beneath him. Before the alien craft sealed around him, cutting him off from the clear blue skies, he thought he saw golden lights shooting up from beneath the ice.

He had a sidearm but he was surrounded immediately by men who looked like extras from a Cleopatra movie.

"Kree lo tak!" One yelled out in a guttural tone that was self-explanatory even if he didn't understand a word, just by the way the ' _aliens_ ' raised their already aimed weapons a fraction more. He raised his hands and stepped out of the cockpit.

The leader of the aliens kept his unyielding eyes on John, pointing at him. "Chel nok!"

John didn't have to understand that either as seconds later he was being tightly manhandled by two of the alien ' _guards_ '.

"Kree mel."

John was half-dragged, half-marched towards an ornate doorway.

"You know, I can walk unaided. Have done so since I before my first birthday," he stated, and winced as the guard behind slammed his meaty fist into the back of John's head.

"Shal kree!"

John didn't need to understand the language to know that was an order to keep his mouth shut, but he'd never taken orders well, which was why he was in Antarctica in the first place. A smart ass remark about men in skirts simply earned him another blow to the back of the head. Any other response fell by the wayside as he was dragged into an impressive room where even the walls shone gold. Ahead was a dais and upon it was a throne fit for an emperor - or a Pharaoh. A handsome man dressed in fine linen with impressively authentic-looking Ancient Egyptian-styled decorative chest and head wear entered the room and sank down onto the throne.

"Kree tal lok," the leader of the guards snarled from behind him and, again, John needed no translation when he felt something strike the back of his knees sending him crashing to the hard floor.

The guards stepped back and John felt a chill go through him as the good looking Pharaoh-wannabe's eyes glowed gold and a cruel smile twisted the almost too-perfect lips. The man rose from his throne with a grace that many would envy, taking the few steps down from the dais to casually walk around him. John pulled his head back in defiance as long fingers dragged across his cheek.

"Tell me of the Tau'ri weapon. The golden lights."

John didn't have a clue what he was talking about, but he'd been trained how to respond to any questioning by an enemy, and firmly stated his name, rank and serial number. The man stood before him now, head tilting in obvious anger as he repeated his question only to get the same response back from John. He held up his hand and John saw an almost delicate piece of jewelry wrapped across his palm and fingers, with a large jewel centered over his palm. It glowed and the most incredible pain streaked through John's head. His muscles locked up, and all he could do was scream out his name, rank and serial number, over and over as the pain tripled in intensity.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he cried out eventually, unable to tolerate another second, and he sagged when the device shut off, feeling something trickling from his nose and ears and knowing it was blood. His blood.

"Kree mel," the ' _Pharaoh_ ' ordered, and this time John was barely conscious and let them drag him away.

For the next two years he became the lowest of the human slaves in service to Lord Resheph. During those years Resheph had beaten him to death three times for his own amusement, and revived him in the sarcophagus, and each time John awoke feeling as if another small part of him had died permanently. It was his defiance that had brought him to the attention of a visiting Goa'uld - Morrigan - only days earlier, and his lips twisted in a parody of smile as he relived that encounter.

***

**Two Days Earlier**

John lowered his eyes as Resheph entered the throne room with a beautiful red haired woman on his arm. She sank into the ornate chair placed beside the throne with the same easy grace of most of the Goa'uld. Two years of beatings had failed to curb his curiosity so he glanced up at her through the longer strands of his hair, and caught her looking back at him.

"Fuck!" he murmured softly under his breath.

"Shel nok, bet'taur," she ordered, and as John couldn't think of any Tau'ri slave of lower status in the throne room as himself, he raised his eyes again and saw she was still looking directly at him. He rose to his feet and moved several steps forward as ordered until he was standing alone. 

"Kree tal lok."

John didn't need to feel the hard edge of a staff weapon slammed against the back of his knees to understand that order any more, and he knelt instantly. Over these two years he had learned the Goa'uld language and even recognized many of the hieroglyphs even though it was forbidden for any Tau'ri to read or write. Not even the lo'taur - the highest ranking human slaves in Resheph's service were allowed that privilege.

She moved around him gracefully, studying him much as Resheph had done two years back, and although it seemed vain to admit to it, he wished he'd not been born with a handsome face and body. She looked back at Resheph.

"Rel tac," she stated softly, and John felt his heart sink at her selecting him for some no doubt nefarious reason.

An hour later he was delivered to her chamber wearing only the skimpy linen skirt of a bet'taur slave. Her long elegant fingers caressed an object on her dresser before she picked it up and brought it over to where he knelt waiting. She dropped it on the floor in front of him.

"Pick it up, bet'taur."

John had played this game too many times before but knew he had no choice. Warily he reached out, wondering how much pain this object would inflict upon him, but instead it simply glowed a brilliant blue, placing strange images into his head that made him gasp. He saw a beautiful city floating on a calm, deep blue ocean. Tall spires reached for the sky, the light from twin suns glinting off gold, silver and blue, casting shadows as the suns moved across an alien sky. He had never seen this world or this city before but he knew its name, buried in myth and legend - Atlantis.

John dropped the strange sphere and the light went out immediately. Looking up, Morrigan's eyes were glowing gold.

"Alteran," she whispered, and before he could make some defiant quip, a strange pink mist surrounded him.

He inhaled in shock and his head began to swim. Before him, Morrigan looked more beautiful than any creature he had ever laid eyes on before. Her touch was electric as she encouraged him to his feet, and when her lips sealed against his he was lost, not even caring as she pulled away the thin linen covering his instantly hard erection.

The rest was lost in a haze of strange memories, brought on when he realized Morrigan was anything but a phantom queen. She was a true queen and he'd been defenseless against her pheromones as she took his DNA inside her to blend with the Goa'uld larvae she would birth. Shocked and disgusted by his actions even though Resheph had demanded far worse from him, he still could not resist her as she dressed before placing a piece of ornate body jewelry around her slim abdomen. She drew his still naked body into her arms, and under the effects of the pheromones, he went willingly.

"Ta'i kree, bet'taur." Her lips caressed him and he was lost again, breathing her in deep. "Onak sha kree, shal Goa'uld?" she demanded.

"Morrigan," he replied. "Onak kree Morrigan. I worship Morrigan."

She smiled and pulled him harder against her, kissing him passionately until an incredible pain sliced through his belly. When she finally let him go, he fell back several steps, looking down his body to his abdomen. His fingers touched the X-cross slits, sinking beneath to the opening of the pouch. She had turned him into a Jaffa.

"You will serve me well in my Raven Guard, Jaffa, once I have given you one of... _our_ precious children to nurture inside you."

Somehow he regained his senses once he was no longer in the same room as her, and he realized he couldn't allow her to implant him with a primta derived from a combination of his DNA with Morrigan and whatever male Goa'uld she had chosen to impregnate her - probably Resheph. He couldn't allow any of those primta to live, knowing what they might become if they also retained the Alteran DNA that she believed her larvae would gain from _their_ union. The Alterans were the Ancients - the Builders - while the Goa'uld were merely parasites feeding off the technological advances and host bodies of other races.

He knew from all he had learned in these two years that his immune system was compromised from the moment she used that Jaffa-making device on him, and that he needed a symbiote to survive, but he couldn't do it.

"Tal shakka mel," he whispered. "I die free."

He knew she would produce her larvae almost immediately, most likely having mated with Resheph earlier. His new position as a Jaffa and his familiarity with the corridors of Resheph's ha'tak - his mothership - gave John the edge he needed to move past several sets of guards loyal to Resheph. 

Overpowering the final set of guards, he made his way into the seplica containing her primta, and he sent a powerful electrical charge into the water, ignoring the screams as he electrocuted the snake-like creatures within it. In the chaos surrounding the deaths of the primta, John picked up various devices and small weapons that might come in handy and worked his way down to the great hall containing the Chappa'ai. He'd seen many addresses dialed over the years when forced to go through the Chappa'ai as Resheph's body slave. Usually he was fitted with an obedience collar to ensure any attempt to escape meant a slow, agonizing death if his master decided not to switch off the collar once his screams and the locator had given away his position. John had seen more than one slave die in agony as the cruel Resheph looked on.

This time he had no restraints but he knew none of those addresses were safe. All would be heavily protected by the guard of whatever Goa'uld ruled that world. He knew he could try to bluff his way through, especially as he was already a dead man so he didn't have that much left to lose, but he feared capture would have him sent straight back here where he would face a fate far worse that being beaten to death and revived. He would be completely enslaved to Morrigan to produce more of her larvae.

The memory of another address came to mind, of a dying, empty world where the so-called god, Ra, was supposed to have abandoned his greatest enemy. John selected that address and once the wormhole opened, he stepped through.

**

His thoughts came back to his present situation as a haggard, sickly man shuffled into view. Prometheus.

John stepped out of the sarcophagus-tomb and stretched. He felt amazing. Not just physically but mentally too. Above him the skies were not the beautiful blue of Earth, tinged instead with the orange of a slowly dying sun, but that didn't matter. He was free at last. He grinned at Prometheus, only for the carefree smile to vanish as Prometheus sank heavily to the ground as if he could no longer support his own frail body. John knelt beside him.

"Can you reprogram the sarcophagus to-?"

"No." He reached up and gripped John's arm. "This body is far beyond the repair of the sarcophagus." He reached for John's hand and pressed a large crystal into it. "While it healed you, I searched for this. Ra hid it well but I have had millennia to work out where it could be hidden, for he taunted me many times with clues. Without it you cannot open the Chappa'ai."

He spent the next hour explaining how to install the crystal to fix the clavis, insisting he was too weak and his hands too unsteady to do it for John. "I have seen the small selection of tools you brought with you, and they will be sufficient to make the repairs to the Chappa'ai."

John winced as he thought he'd hidden his stash of stolen goods pretty well, buried in the earth behind the Chappa'ai.

"Which Goa'uld did you liberate yourself from, John Sheppard?"

"Resheph... and Morrigan."

Prometheus nodded. "I knew both once, and if you have angered them then they will not stop until you are found and punished. You should leave here... Quickly."

"What about you? Not that I'm offering myself."

"Even if your body could accommodate me, I will not take an unwilling host. I will never again subject another sentient being to such enslavement." He smiled. "Go. Leave me here. Let me die here finally, in peace."

"I'm not going to leave you to die alone. What if that... Aetos came back?"

Prometheus pulled a zat'nik'katel from beneath the rags of his clothing. "Then it will not find me so vulnerable this time."

Licking his lips, John looked towards the slight rise hiding the Chappa'ai from view. "Look. I'm going to go fix the Chappa'ai, and then I'm coming back. If you've changed your mind, I'll take you wherever you want to go. If not, then I'll stay here and watch over you until... I owe you that much."

He could see Prometheus was too sick to argue and he hurried away, not wanting to leave behind the only Goa'uld who had ever shown any kindness towards him, and one that myth had decreed was one of the good guys, like the Tok'ra. That gave him an idea. Maybe he could convince Prometheus to seek out the Tok'ra. They didn't believe in taking unwilling hosts either according to all he had overheard while enslaved to Resheph.

His limbs felt loose and strong as he quickly made his way to the Chappa'ai but he paused when he saw two dark shapes huddled beneath the clavis. Drawing his own stolen zat'nik'katel, he approached stealthily, frowning when he recognized two humans dressed similarly in the same uniform of the drab olive green jumpsuit that the U.S. armed forced preferred. As he drew closer he saw patches on their sleeves depicting a sickle and stars, and the word _Korolev_. Russian?

Neither of them stirred when he reached them, and he placed his fingers on the pulse point of the closest man, heart sinking when he realized the man was dead having drowned in his own vomit. The tell tale signs of radiation sickness were visible on his skin and in the missing clumps of hair. John moved to the other man and found a weak pulse. Even his gentle touch was too much as the man moaned in pain. He saw an open medical kit with the contents scattered about, noting the empty bottle of morphine.

The man was close to death.

"The sarcophagus," John murmured. Prometheus had insisted that it had never been powerful enough to do more than make simple repairs. It certainly had not restored his own body to a pre-Jaffa state, but perhaps it would be enough to buy this man some time to seek other medical help.

"Sorry," he murmured as he hoisted the man - Doctor M. Rodney McKay, from his patch - over his shoulder, knowing he had no choice even though his actions caused the man pain. The one improvement from becoming a Jaffa seemed to be greater strength, and he was grateful for that as he carried the man back to Prometheus and his sarcophagus-tomb.

.


	5. Endosymbiosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Rodney and Prometheus have to make a choice... to live long together or die quickly alone.

Rodney groaned as the man settled him down carefully onto the ground beside another man. He looked across but knew immediately that it wasn't Chelomey.

"Where's...?"

"He didn't make it." The man who had carried him from the Stargate looked genuinely regretful. "I'm sorry."

Rodney squinted through pain-filled eyes at the dark-haired man kneeling beside him. His face was beautiful - like an angel - except Rodney didn't believe in such things, not even before learning about the Goa'uld, Asgard, Ancients and various other races. His eyes dropped down the strong, hairy chest to the man's navel, only to realize this man was no human. He was a Jaffa, which meant Rodney had been found by either by a member of the Free Jaffa, hopefully, or by the Goa'uld. He let his head angle and drop sideways again to take a better look at the other man seated beside him, seeing all the signs of sickness as well as physical injuries to his abdomen that looked like claw marks.

Pain rolled through Rodney as the effects of his last injection wore off far too soon, leaving him in agony.

"Morphine... I need something for the pain," he begged. Even a small amount of morphine made him loopy but right now he'd rather have that than the terrible pain stabbing throughout his entire body.

"McKay... Rodney... You're dying."

Rodney snorted. "Obviously. You try... absorbing more than... 7Gy and see how long you live." Rodney looked into the hazel-green eyes, seeing compassion in their depths, and something inside him broke down. "I don't want to die," he whispered, voice cracking from fear and from the sickness ravaging him, feeling tears sting his eyes, and threaten to spill. "But... not even the Asgard could save me now."

It wasn't pessimism. He'd seriously underestimated his exposure, probably because the effects of that much radiation from both the initial exposure and subsequent absorption on both the escape pod and this world would have accumulated and affected his cognitive reasoning. The pain in his gut was excruciating, and he knew he smelled terrible from the less than desirable symptoms of radiation sickness as his whole body rebelled against him. He saw the Jaffa look across at the other sick man, licking his lips as if he was internally debating something of importance; the Jaffa turned back to Rodney.

"I _will_ give you the morphine in a minute. I promise. But, for now, I need you to be fully aware of what I'm saying to you." He gave Rodney a look that demanded a response.

"Yes, yes. Listening. Go on."

"There is a sarcophagus here."

Rodney's attention locked onto the Jaffa, hope filling him. He didn't know a whole lot about the Goa'uld sarcophagus except that it had to power to return even the recently deceased back to life. It could...

"But it's old... and it's not powerful enough to save you. Not on its own. It can only relieve the symptoms and delay the inevitable."

Rodney absorbed his words, feeling the bitterness welling up inside. He still had so much he had wanted to do. He had a whiteboard filled with equations for creating their own ZPMs, and datapads full of ideas for ship designs, for compact Naquadah generators even better than the Mark V, for improving the hyperdrives on the Earth ships, and so much more. He didn't realize he'd been talking out loud as he described his dreams of discovery, and of going to Atlantis, until the other sick man began to list his dreams too.

One particular idea was so dated that Rodney snorted and berated him, and they argued as they debated the issue, gaining a huff of laughter from the Jaffa, especially when the Jaffa corrected the math equation Rodney spouted to support his theory.

"Give me a break... I'm sick and dying," he whined in defense of his mental lapse.

"Prometheus?"

Rodney blinked, wondering how this Jaffa knew of Earth's BC-303 battleship.

"I like him," the other man stated softly. "If he is willing, then I would be willing too."

"Willing?" Rodney asked, certain he'd somehow missed an entire conversation.

"Rodney. This..." the Jaffa indicated towards the other man, "...is Prometheus."

Rodney blinked in confusion. "Prometheus as in... Ancient Greek mythology Prometheus?"

The Jaffa nodded.

"Who stole fire... from the gods... and was condemned to..." Rodney squeezed his eyes shut, doubling over as another wave of sharp pain rippled through his dying body, worse in his gut. "Didn't he get rescued... by Heracles?"

"Well, he got rescued," the Jaffa stated in what was a suspiciously teasing tone, "But my name isn't Heracles. It's John. John Sheppard. From Earth." Sheppard's face grew serious. "See. Here's the problem. Prometheus claims he is a Tok'ra. His host is dying and there's nothing he can do to save him. You're dying..."

Prometheus took over. "But a combination of the sarcophagus and endosymbiosis would save us both."

"Endosymbiosis?"

"I would use your body as my host, and in return I will heal you. We would remain as equals, as symbionts dependent upon each other for survival."

"But you'd both live," Sheppard interrupted, "and neither of you would have greater control than the other." Sheppard turned to Prometheus. "And if you're lying to me about being Tok'ra in everything but name, I'll drag your host's ass to the nearest Tok'ra I can find and have you forcibly removed from him."

Prometheus smiled and nodded. "I would have it no other way."

Sheppard stared hard for a moment but then seemed satisfied with whatever he had read on Prometheus's face.

"Well, Rodney?"

"I don't know..." He cried out as the pain washed over him again, taking the decision away from him because he really didn't want to die. Rodney nodded his assent, hoping he wasn't making a serious error of judgment and condemning himself to be an unwilling host of a Goa'uld for the next thousand years. "Do it."

Prometheus leaned over Rodney and kissed him lightly on the lips, almost in benediction, before drawing back.

"I am sorry to do it this way... but my strength is failing fast."

He gripped tight to the back of Rodney's head and kissed him again, open mouthed; and Rodney almost gagged as something large propelled itself into his mouth before burrowing through the back of his throat to enter his brain and take hold. It was over in seconds, and fortunately the agony was barely noticeable in his already pain-racked body.

Rodney felt his vision flare gold for a moment, and saw Sheppard flinch back, hand reaching for the Goa'uld zat gun at his side.

"No wait," Rodney held out a hand, stilling the move before directing his attention inwards. "Oh my god! I can feel you. I can read your memories... How are you not insane?"

_May I?_

Rodney conceded control and listened when Prometheus spoke through him. "I have started the healing process but my strength is almost gone."

"Unless you can jury-rig that sarcophagus, then you still have most of a day to wait before you can use it," Sheppard replied.

_Rodney?_

Rodney was amazed by the silent exchange but agreed it was worth the risk of trying to reprogram the sarcophagus as it could be only a matter of time before Morrigan or Resheph figured out where John Sheppard had gone and came after him. If they caught up to him then both Prometheus and Rodney might also be captured, and they both agreed that neither John Sheppard's recapture, or theirs, was acceptable.

An hour later, Rodney was back in control of his body and he looked nervously at Sheppard. He was no longer racked with the debilitating pain from the advanced radiation sickness, but he knew he was still far from healed due to Prometheus's weakened condition.

"I'm... not very good with small spaces."

"You'll be fine, Rodney. I'll be waiting right here."

"Wish me luck?" he asked as he backed into the sarcophagus-tomb.

Sheppard nodded and Rodney found his eyes locked on Sheppard's as the lid slowly closed, gently murmuring, "Clear blue skies," even as Prometheus reassured him by his very presence that all would be fine. His consciousness faded as the sarcophagus began to repair the radiation damage done to his body.

.


	6. Leaving Kaukasos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healed from his radiations sickness, Prometheus realizes that they must leave Kaukasos immediately to avoid recapture.

When the sarcophagus lid finally slid back, Rodney blinked open his eyes slowly and smiled. After days of pain and debilitating fatigue, he felt... good. No. He felt better than good; he felt fantastic. He snorted, recalling his Mr. Fantastic t-shirt with a grin until he realized it would have vaporized with the _Korolev_. It was one of the few personal items of clothing he'd taken with him for that fateful mission.

Dropping his eyes from the brilliance of a blue sky above him, Rodney frowned when he noticed Sheppard was on his knees before him, his face and eyes cast down at the ground. Confused, Rodney took a step forward, far enough to catch movement in his periphery vision. He tensed, fear streaking through him as two Jaffa stepped into full view, with their staff weapons trained, one at Sheppard and the other at him.

 _Let me,_ Prometheus urged silently, and Rodney willingly gave up control of his body to the ancient Goa'uld. He felt the shift as Prometheus surged forward in this mind, and a haze of gold colored his vision.

***

"Onak sha kree, shal Goa'uld?" Prometheus demanded of the Jaffa standing over Sheppard, wanting to learn which of the Goa'uld had found them.

So many had come to this world as the guest of Ra, often setting up small banquets so they could dine and fondle their favorite slaves while they waited for Aetos to swoop down, tear into him and feast on his liver. He would hear their laughter following him into unconsciousness and death, only to revive the following day to entertain them again... and again, until they grew tired of the sport and left to seek out new, depraved pleasures elsewhere.

Another Jaffa stepped into view. This one wore his forehead mark tinged with the gold reserved for a First Prime.

"Onak kree Resheph," the First Prime answered imperiously.

Prometheus raised his chin. He thought he recognized the mark of Resheph but it had been many centuries since Resheph had gloried in the Torment of Prometheus, as it had become known throughout the galaxy from what he had overheard. Resheph had sided with Anubis centuries earlier and was lucky to have escaped retribution when Ra defeated their combined armies after a long war. In the years following that defeat, Prometheus had overheard so many plans of the System Lords as he hung chained to his rock, momentarily forgotten until Aetos made his appearance, or simply discounted as a potential risk, but he had heard nothing further of Resheph until John Sheppard arrived on Kaukasos. Despite this, he was not surprised that the Canaanite god of plague and war still lived, for Resheph had always found allies among the other lords.

"I am Prometheus. The Titan Lord of Knowledge, born of Tethys and Oceanus. I demand to see your Lord Resheph. Bring him to me immediately," Prometheus ordered, and saw the First Prime hesitate because of his stated lineage dating back to the First Ones - the Titans.

In that moment of hesitation, as the Jaffa guards looked to their First Prime for orders, Prometheus took advantage of the distraction and raised the zat'nik'katel hidden at his side. He took out the first of the armed guards holding a weapon on him, then aimed quickly at the startled First Prime as Sheppard surged up from the ground to tackle the other Jaffa guard. It was over in a matter of seconds, and Prometheus watched in concern when Sheppard snatched up the zat'nik'katel that must have been taken off of him earlier, and delivered two more shots to each Jaffa. The first shot to kill and the second to disintegrate the body leaving no trace behind.

Inside of him, Rodney was stunned into silence at the seeming callousness of Sheppard's actions, and Prometheus had no answers for him, or any reassurances to offer. When Sheppard turned back and looked at him, Prometheus could see no emotion in the hard glint of his beautiful hazel-green eyes.

"Their deaths were far more merciful than they deserved," he stated softly, and Prometheus saw the hardness melted away by the pain of whatever memories Sheppard held for these Jaffa.

Prometheus had seen the full depths of depravity while chained to his rock. At times his own torment had seemed minor compared to the pain inflicted on lowly human slaves - the bet'taur - by the Jaffa on the orders of their Goa'uld masters. Resheph had earned his reputation for plague and war by using biological weapons in battle, and he loved to watch as his enemies or ill-favored slaves died writhing in agony as he tested out his disgusting biological weapons. From what Prometheus had overheard, Resheph was also fond of ordering his Jaffa to beat a slave to death - slowly - savoring every blow and each slash of knife. Often he revived his victim soon after just so he could enjoy seeing the horror and despair on their faces when they realized that even death was no escape from his torture. Prometheus understood that particular torment all too well, and he wondered if Sheppard had experienced the same. 

Inside, he felt Rodney's horror, wishing he had spared a moment to shield his thoughts to spare his host, but it had been so long since he had shared with a host who was sane enough to communicate back with him. He sent a wave of remorse towards Rodney.

_I will try to shield the worst of my memories from you._

Prometheus didn't think it was possible to receive a mental eye roll but somehow Rodney managed it.

_Please! Is that even possible? We're sharing a brain. Anyway... What is this about Sheppard? Do you think Resheph... beat him or... or... violated..._

He felt Rodney's horror and concern radiate towards Sheppard, momentarily shocked and then inordinately pleased to realize that Rodney shared the same sexual attraction to the handsome Jaffa.

The physical scars were long removed by the regenerative properties of the sarcophagus but Prometheus had recognized the mental scars of trauma in Sheppard's eyes. Perhaps one day he - they - would ask, but for now they had to leave this world as quickly as possible as it was no longer safe. If Resheph's First Prime was here then Resheph would not be far behind, though he would not risk using the Chappa'ai without full assurance that he would not become trapped on this dying world. Unaware of how long Sheppard had been held captive on his knees before the sunrise opened the sarcophagus-tomb, Prometheus knew Resheph's Ha'tak could enter orbit at any time.

"Do you still have the crystal?"

Sheppard nodded, pulling it out from where he had concealed it within the gathered folds of his linen Shendyt. He handed it back over to Prometheus.

We must leave for the Chappa'ai immediately."

Prometheus took one last quick glance around, silently hoping he would never return to this place, or even this planet. They moved at a fast pace to reach the Chappa'ai...

 _We call it a Stargate... from the Alteran, Astria Porta,_ Rodney stated.

Prometheus tried out the word. "Stargate." He hummed in approval, gaining a raised eyebrow from Sheppard. "I like this name."

Once they reached the Stargate, Rodney took back control of his body and Prometheus was both surprised and pleased when his host needed no instructions on how to fix the clavis... the D.H.D. He was already aware of the Tau'ri's quick mind but now he was also impressed with how quickly Rodney took on this task, and with such ease. For the first time he realized that here was a Tau'ri whose intelligence easily rivaled, and perhaps even surpassed his own. It was a humbling thought, and he marveled at the string of events that had brought them together.

Sheppard narrowed his eyes as he watched Rodney-Prometheus close up the panel. "You do happen to know the address for Earth, don't you?"

"Yes," Rodney hesitated as Prometheus relayed the same information at the same time, but Rodney continued. "Except we can't go there. Not without a G.D.O. or an I.D. code. The Earth Stargate has an iris that locks across the event horizon of the wormhole. Anything that tries to go through unannounced goes... splat."

Sheppard winced. "Well, I don't particularly want to go splat, so have you any other ideas? Either of you."

"Um..."

Prometheus recalled how a world that was once favored by the Goa'uld for the pleasurable, narcotic effect of a beautiful light emission, but that was long abandoned according to overheard conversations. He relayed the symbols to Rodney, watching as he dialed. As Rodney slammed his hand on the central control to lock the seventh chevron, a whine filled the sky as two death gliders zoomed towards them. The wormhole engaged, splashing out before settling back within the Naquadah ring.

"Run!" Sheppard yelled, grabbing hold of his host's arm. As they ran towards the open Stargate, Prometheus felt the heat and the sting of kicked up dirt and stones as the death gliders strafed the ground barely feet away. He leaped through after Sheppard, rolling across the hard marble floor inside the main temple. Stray weapon's fire flashed over their heads, scoring the pillars lining one wall, and then all fell silent as the Stargate closed behind them.

.


	7. Visions of Atlantis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ancient technology on a world long abandoned by the Goa'uld shows John Atlantis.

John rolled onto his back and stared up at the dimly lit, vaulted ceiling high above their head. He pushed his feet and allowed Prometheus-Rodney to lead him through the corridors to a chamber where several ornately designed seats sat facing a beautiful crystal sculpture.

A tingling in the back of his mind called to him and he watched, mesmerized as the crystals began to glow, casting a beautiful, mesmerizing light projected around the chamber. John slumped into one of the seats, lost in the images of a beautiful city floating on an alien ocean. He had seen this city before when Morrigan made him pick up the strange device, but this time he was soaring between the majestic towers and spires, gliding as if caught on the thermals between the skyscrapers. He swooped lower until he was skimming the top of a pier before climbing up and up to dance in the stronger wind around the central spire.

The city shone in aquamarines and burnished gold, and the windows were stained crystal glass in delicate geometric designs that threw patterns of blue, green, orange and yellow across the marbled floor in front of the Stargate. In a blur of motion he was suddenly inside the city, bathed in the gentle light from one of two suns. He climbed a magnificent staircase, and each upriser lit up in greeting as that soft presence singing its welcome in the back of his mind. Lights glowed brighter as if the city was awakening beneath his touch.

 _Who are you?_ he asked.

_Atlantis._

_Where are you?_

_Waiting for you._

Before he could ask more questions, everything dimmed and he was back in the chamber.

Rodney-Prometheus was on his knees before him, his hands tightly gripping John's biceps. His mouth was slanted down and his eyes were wide with alarm... and so damned blue that John could feel himself drowning in them. On an impulse, he leaned in and kissed Rodney, feeling the moment of shock pass quickly until Rodney or Prometheus or perhaps both of them was kissing him back equally hard. Hands slid from John's biceps to circle his back, dragging him into a hard embrace as they kissed in near desperation. He couldn't recall moving from the seat but when he blinked he was leaning over Rodney's prone figure. Dark pupils had swallowed the blue of his irises, and his eyes seemed to pulse gold as Rodney and Prometheus shared with him equally. Clever fingers brushed aside the linen of his Shendyt, wrapping around the hard length of his erection and he moaned in pleasure, hips thrusting into the encircling hand. He sank down until he was draped partially over Rodney, desperate to touch him, to feel the heat pouring from his bod as he arched beneath John. The ragged jump suit was harder to remove but somehow they managed it between hard kisses until John was peeling the drab uniform from Rodney's body. It took a moment for John to tug away the modest strip of linen he wore before they were both gloriously naked.

Skin slid against skin as they caressed and grasped, tasted and kissed, until they were moving together, the exquisite sensations building within John. Rodney's fingers brushed over the lip of the pouch and the intense pleasure washed over him. He muffled his gasps against Rodney's neck as he came harder than any time in his life before, feeling his belly quivering with small ripples of pleasure long after he would normally be floating back down from ecstasy.

He moaned and gently brushed Rodney's still questing fingers from his belly.

"Too much," he murmured. 

"Sorry! Sorry!" Rodney whispered in contrition, trying to pull out of John's arms.

"Hey!" he tugged Rodney back down, "It was... incredible... just a little too sensitive now."

"Oh. Good. I mean... it's not good that it's oversen-."

"Rodney," he interrupted. "Relax."

"Yes. Shutting up now."

For several minutes the silence was broken only by their soft breathing, and though he'd never been one for pillow talk in the past, John found himself opening up now.

"I didn't think I could ever... With someone else after..."

Rodney drew up a fraction so he could look John in the face. John could tell from the anger and sorrow that flashed gold for a moment that both Rodney and Prometheus understood what he couldn't quite say. Resheph's appetite for inflicting pain and suffering had not stopped at beatings and horrific experiments. For a moment he thought Rodney was going to offer some feeble attempt to console him for the what he had suffered at Resheph's hands over the past two years, and John pulled back mentally as well as physically. He didn't need or want Rodney or Prometheus's pity.

John wriggled a little but Rodney-Prometheus tightened his grip to prevent him sliding away. Somehow they seemed to sense what John needed, because when he spoke his words were teasing rather than cloyingly sentimental or pitying.

"Are you always this eloquent, Sheppard, or are you reserving this just for me?"

John looked into Rodney's eyes, half expecting to find pity and instead he found understanding. Eventually, he gave up trying to pull away and relaxed, smiling wryly at the his companion's content sigh as Rodney-Prometheus snuggled in closer. It was silent again for a long time before Rodney spoke.

"Where do we go from here? And I don't mean that emotionally. I mean it literally."

John licked his lips as his thoughts returned to the vision he had seen not once but twice now. He knew Atlantis was just a myth on Earth but until two years ago, the so-called gods and the Asgard were myths and legends too.

"Atlantis."

"How did you know about...?"

"I saw the city in my... Wait." John rose up on one elbow, looking down at Rodney. "How did I know about... what, exactly?"

"Atlantis. We... They found her. I put my name down for the expedition, but the Russians decided I was too important to lose. Obviously that's true so I'm not-."

"Rodney," John called him back on track before he could go off on a tangent. "I think I was meant to go there too. I feel like I'm being called by her." He licked his lips. "So how do we get there?"

Rodney huffed. "Unless we can hitch a ride on an spaceship capable of intergalactic travel then forget it. Otherwise, the only Stargate in this galaxy that has direct access to Atlantis is on Earth, and they don't have the power needed to open the gate. For that they'd need a ZPM."

Prometheus flared into life. "From Rodney's mind, I can see what he means by a ZPM. The Potentia. The ones you call the Ancients - the Alterans - left many objects behind when they ascended, scattered across this galaxy. I do not know where to find a Potentia, but I do know where we can start looking for clues."

"Except there's one minor problem. Morrigan and Resheph," John reminded them. "As well as countless other Goa'uld out there."

"Then perhaps we should take advantage of what we seem to be. A human host for the Goa'uld Prometheus, and his First Prime, John Sheppard," Rodney stated, eyebrows rising.

John grinned because maybe that could work... as long as they stayed off Morrigan and Resheph's radar. 

****

**Epilogue**

Rodney made the mold and created a impression of an infinity sign in a material that looks so realistic that it was indistinguishable from his own flesh. The raised infinity sign was painted with pure gold, standing out upon his forehead. He frowned, feeling the unfamiliar tightening of his skin on his forehead as Rodney-Prometheus stepped back to admired their handiwork. John turned to face the full length mirror and he smiled when he saw the mark on his forehead.

"Onak sha kree, shal Goa'uld?" Rodney-Prometheus asked softly, and John's smile widened.

"Onak kree Prometheus," he proudly stated, before turning and drawing Rodney-Prometheus into his arms. He kissed him passionately before drawing back. "Let's go find our way to Atlantis."

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the story! This is sort of dedicated to everyone who read Prime, Not Prime and wanted to see how it all began for Rodney, John and Prometheus.

**Author's Note:**

> Even if you have already done so before - It would be worth re-reading Prime, Not Prime following this as I made a number of changes to make it fit with THIS prequel!  
> I do hope you enjoyed this story/AU :)


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